CHAPTER FOUR

Down the street from the Williamsons lived the Reed family. The husband and father was, like Williamson, a doctor; unlike Williamson he was a softspoken individual with some genuine aspirations to culture. Mrs. Reed, a specialist in "educational assessment," frequently deplored the "shallowness" of her neighbors, but, apart from her "professional research," rarely nurtured her own mind with more than the most fashionable movies and paperbacks. There were two sons, Ronnie and Russell, respectively eleven and nine years old, blond and brown-haired, both blue-eyed, with warm, ready smiles.

Several days after the events of the preceding chapters (not that the Reeds knew anything about them!) Mrs. Reed decided to take Russell shopping with her, while Ronnie was away at a friend's birthday party. Although she liked to talk of the elegant private stores where she occasionally made purchases, the truth was that she could not resist a "bargain" anywhere and hence was nothing loath to frequent establishments which others in her social circle considered entirely beneath consideration. Thus when Sears opened on Saturday morning for its "75% OffÑSUMMER CLEARANCE SALE," naturally Sandy Reed, with a reluctant Russell in tow, was among the ranks of the shoppers.

"Now you stay right here by this counter and wait for me," she told her son as she went off to the dressing room to try on several summer outfits that she had selected.

Russell of course soon became quite bored standing by the register in the "Women's Apparel" department, and presently he wandered across the aisle to the counter for "Men's Wear." Something on display had caught his eye. The ties and cologne interested him not in the least, but he was delighted by the personal care set in the wallet-like leather case. Besides the two sets of nail clippers, it contained scissors, tweezers, a file, comb, and knife. Ronnie had gotten one for Christmas, only not nearly as neat as this. And Russell was sick of his older brother's lording it over him about how grown up he was to have such a kit because he could take care of himself properly and didn't need his parents to clip his nails or pull out splinters for him. How Russell wanted a kit like that!

There was only one problem: The kit cost $19.99 and Russell only had three dollars in his pocket. Then it occurred to him: Why not just take the kit? With the cover snapped shut it was about the size of a wallet. If nobody was looking, he could just slip it into his back pocket where it would look like a wallet and nobody would notice it there if he walked out with it. But wasn't that stealing, he asked himself. It was wrong, and if he got caught, he would be in big trouble!

Russell looked at the row of a half-dozen kits near the edge on top of the counter, closed kits just like the open one on display. He wanted that kit so much. And there was nobody at the counter. If he just quickly reached up and took one, right now, no one would see himÉ

Somebody did, though. Suddenly Russell felt a strong hand gripping him by his upper arm; at the same time he heard a man's voice state:

"All right, son let's go to the manager's office."

Then, before he could do or say anything in response, with a mixture of relief and chagrin he heard his mother's forceful voice:

"Is there a problem, mister?"

"Are you this boy's mother, ma'am?"

"I most certainly am. Now would you kindly answer my question?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm Dim Watts, the store detective. Would you mind asking your son what he has in his left hip pocket?"

A look of dawning understanding and mortification appeared on Sandy Reed's pinched face, but she managed to state calmly: "Russell, keep your hands in front of you. Mr. Watts, can we go somewhere more private to discuss this?"

"I mentioned the manager's office when you came up," he replied.

The manager's private office, isolated from the rest of the store by an outer office and two corridors, was virtually soundproof. Neither the manager nor his secretary happened to be in the store that morning. Watts had a cubicle of his own in the outer office, but he had access to any room on the premises. Unlocking the door to the inner office, he ushered them inside, then closed the door. Watts offered Sandy a chair and she sat down.

"All right, Russell," his mother demanded,"what do you have in your back pocket?"

"Nothing, Momma,' Russell lied desperately,"just my wallet!" He added the latter words, realizing the conspicuousness of the object.

"Russell," his mother declared with exasperation,"you don't have a wallet. Whatever you do have in your back pocket, pull it out and show us." Blushing deeply, Russell produced the grooming kit.

"I believe we've caught your son shoplifting," Watts summarized. "We even have it on videotape. The next step usually is to turn the matter over to the police."

Sandy Reed's face paled then darkened again with anger. "Finally she spoke in a controlled voice:

"Isn't there any way that we could handle this matter without bringing in the police? I don't know what came over Russell. He must know that his father and I would never abide such a thing. We've been good customers of this store for twenty yearsÉ"

"Yes, Ma'am, but we still can't let the boy get away with stealing."

"Indeed not. But, since we caught him before anything was actually stolen, and this is the first time that he even tried anything like this, wouldn't you be satisfied if we make Russell return the item and pay for it with his own money?"

"Those are good steps, Ma'am, but I have kids too, and if one of mine did a thing like this, I'm not sure that just making' him pay in money would teach him the sort of lesson that he'd remember."

"Then, what do you suggest?"

"Well, ma'am, to tell you the truth, if my little boy did this, I would also make him pay out of his hide so that he'd remember this lesson for a long time,' specially when he went to sit down, if you know what I mean."

"You mean, you would spank him?" Sandy sought clarification.

"Yes, ma'am, I'd take his pants down and blister his behind."

"And if I do the same with Russell, will that settle the matter to your satisfaction so that the police can stay out of it?"

"Yes, ma'am, that will take care of it."

"Then that's exactly what we'll do," she said resolutely. She began undoing the buttons and the zipper on the front of Russell's short pants.

"Please, Mommy, don't take my pants down!" Russell begged, not daring to raise his voice lest anyone else learn of his now certain fate. In an instant he felt himself turned over his mother's lap in the time-honored spanking position, and his shorts were already down to his knees.

They did not stop there.

"All right, Russell," his mother declared,"I won't take them down. I'll take them off." And with that, she slipped the shorts over the boy's shoes and tossed them onto the floor. Then, reaching for the waistband of Russell's white cotton jockey shorts, she asked:"Now, do you have and advice for me about your underpants?"

"No, Mommy! Don't spank me on the bare bottom!" Russell begged miserably, missing the point that his mother had made.

Relentlessly her strong hand slid down his underpants. The air-conditioned room felt cold to Russell's bare bottom. It was a sensation that he would not have long to worry about.

SMACK! His mother's palm came down with loud and stinging impact right across the middle of his bottom, causing Russell to gasp.

SMACK! This time her palm struck Russell's right buttock.

SMACK! This time the left bottomcheek. From this point Russell could no longer keep from crying out as each blow of the spanking landed on its intended target.

SMACK! (right bottomcheek)Ñ"OWW!"

SMACK! (left bottomcheek)Ñ"OWW!"

SMACK! (right bottomcheek) -"WOW!"

SMACK! (left bottomcheek)Ñ"WAAH!"

SMACK! (inner halves of both cheeks) "MOMMEE!"

And so it continued until Russell had received thirty sound smacks and his little rear end looked like two ripe tomatoes. Finally his spanking, truly the spanking of his life, was over, and Russell lay, thoroughly chastened and subdued, over his mother's lap. So thoroughly affected was he by his punishment, that he did not even think to pull up his underpants before his mother had set him on his feet. Then, of course, he did so at once.

However, when he reached down to pick up his pants off of the floor, he heard his mother say: "Russell, give those to me." He did so, thinking that his mother wanted to brush them off or smooth them out to make them look neater. To his amazement, she put then into her purse.

"Now, let's go," she said.

Russell looked stunned. "But, Momma." he asked,"aren't you going to give me my pants?"

"No," she replied. "You thought it was all right to take something from others. Now you're going to find out what it feels like to have something important taken away from you. And you're going to have all the rest of today to think about it.."

"But Momma, you already spanked me. I promise I won't forget that for a long time!"

"That;s good," she replied. "But with this little extra touch we can be sure that you'll not forget. Don't you agree, Mr. Watts?"

"Oh, yes, Ma'am," Watts chuckled. "If his britches are off awhile, there's no way he'll be getting too big for 'em!"

"Please, Mommy," Russell begged,"I can't walk around in public in just my underpants!"

"You're not wearing just your underpants," his mother corrected him. "You also have on your shirt, socks and shoes."

"But I've got no pants on!" Russell emphasized.

"Yes, you do. You have your underpants on to cover your private places. And for now that will just have to do." his mother replied.

"But everyone will think I'm dumb, walking around like this!"

"And what do you think everyone in town would have thought of your father and me if you'd been arrested for stealing and the story had got into the newspaper?"

There might have been more embarrassing moments in Russell's life, but if there had been, he certainly could not think of any. A four- or five-year-old might have thought little of it, but for a nine-year-old it was mortifyingly embarrassing to have to walk through a fairly crowded store in front of everybody in his tight white underpants. Even though they weren't ragged or dirty, they were not brand-new and were becoming a bit small. As he walked, the fabric did tend to cling to his crack and the slightly loose elastic allowed the leg-bands to creep upward, thus revealing the lowest part of each buttock unless he constantly reached down to pull the cloth back into place.

The situation was not helped by people's reactions. Adults either smiled condescendingly or tried to pretend that they noticed nothing amiss. Still, it was obvious that they noticed. everyone noticed. The other children in the store would even laugh at and occasionally point to Russell.

Still, no one had the bad grace to say anythingÉ

Until they had almost reached the door. There they encountered two practically senile ladies from church, Mrs. Elgin and Mrs. Muratin, widowed sisters who bore the appropriate nicknames of "Day" and "Night" signifying the vast difference between their respective personalities .

"Hello, Sandy dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Elgin. "And there's sweet little Russell! Hello, darling! My, what a cute outfit! I'll bet those shorts are the new European style. They certainly do show off what pretty legs you have!"

"Oh, shut up, sister! You're just a born fool!" Mrs. Muratin countered. "If those aren't underpants he's wearing, then they ought to be! No grandson of mine would be seen in public dressed like that. I've said time and time again that the styles just grow more and more shameful from year to year, and this just goes to prove it. What happened to the good old days when men and boys wore long-johns and ladies all wore petticoats!"

Still more embarrassing, though, for Russell was what happened when he and his mother had returned home but were not yet inside. Ten-year-old Jimmy Hill, who happened to be riding by on his bicycle, caught sight of Russell and sang out:

"Whoo-oo! Look at Russell, showin' off his legs! Those are about the shortest pants I've ever seen, and if I could believe my eyes, I'd think that Russell was running around in his UNDERPANTS! Wait 'til the rest of the kids hear about this!"

Inside the house and feeling genuinely miserable, Russell now sought to gain his mother's sympathetic attention by telling her that he felt ill. When pressed for more specific information, he declared that he had a stomach ache, a statement which he immediately had cause to regret.

"Well," Sandy declared,"since I know you haven't eaten anything spoiled or irritating today, I'm sure it has to be constipation. And we know just how to take care of that, don't we? We'll fix you up with a nice hot enema in no time."

"Please. Momma, let's forget about it. I'm fine now, really!" little Russell insisted. His mother, however, remained adamant:

"No, I know how you are about forgetting your regular bowel movements and letting it turn to cement inside you 'til you have to heave and grunt for half an hour Ñ like your grandfatherÑto get it out of you! No, we won't have that! I think you need an enema, and that's exactly what you're going to have! So, go up to your room and take your underpants off. Spread a towel on your bed, then lie down on it and wait there for me.."

"But, MommaÉ"

"No 'buts' about it. Now do as I say!"

"Yes, ma'am."

It seemed to take forever. Here Russell had done exactly as his mother had told him. The least she could do would be to hurry up and get it over. But, no, like all grown-ups, when she herself wasn't in a hurry, she was going to take as long as possible. Meanwhile here he was, waiting for her, lying tummy-down and bottomup on the bed. Even though he was still alone in the room, he felt very strange and vulnerable lying there bare-bottomed on the bed. It would drive him crazy to have to lie like this if there were a fly or mosquito in the room. Fortunately there was none.

After what seemed eternity but may have actually been all of ten minutes, his mother came into the room. In her hands she was carrying a plastic tray, which she set down on the night-stand to the left of Russell's bed. On this tray were some paper towels, a tube of lubricant and a metal basin half-full of warm water in which bobbed a white rubber enema syringe with a plastic nozzle about two inches long.

"Now hold still," his mother directed.

"Momma, I don't want it! I don't need it!" Russell suddenly protested, clenching his buttocks tightlyÑuntil his mother's hand delivered a stinging smack that made him relax them.

"Now, as I said, hold still!" He did.

First he felt her rubber-sheathed finger applying a small glob of petroleum jelly to his anus, then the smooth plastic nozzle sliding into his rectum, then the slow, steady jet of warm water filling his lower bowel, then the nozzle being withdrawn, finally an uncomfortably thick objectÑthe black rubber plugÑinserted into his rectum.

"Oh!" he exclaimed as it was pushed up to the point where it would hold naturally.

"That doesn't hurt, does it?" his mother asked solicitously.

"No, not now. It just feels kinda crowded."

"Well, I suppose that's natural," his mother explained. "Russell, I want you to lie here with that plug in you for ten minutesÑdo you hear? ten minutesÑbefore you go to the bathroom and let it out."

"How will I know when the ten minutes are up?" Russell asked.

"Here, we'll set Ronnie's alarm on the clock radio." She proceeded to do so. Then, giving Russell a final pat on the bottom after checking the plug, she admonished him: "Now you just lie there until that alarm goes off. I have work to do in the kitchen!" With that, she left the room.

Russell tried to forget about his embarrassing situation by reading some of the old D. C. comic books that he and Ronnie had found in the attic, but it did not help any. Every issue he turned to seemed to have some little kid running around in some costume that looked like underpants. Batman had Robin. Aquaman had Aqualad; and the Phantom and Congo Bill had Janar, who was really hilarious! How in the world could there be a white boy, much less a blond, running around darkest Africa in leopard-skin Speedo briefs? Why were all these kids always running around bare-legged? How come Dennis the Menace ran around with his bare bottom hanging out half the time and didn't seem to care who saw him like that? As he considered these details, Russell felt his little penis grow hard as he slowly and pleasantly pressed his body down against the bedspread.

Russell's reflections were interrupted by the entrance of his eleven-year-old brother, having just returned from the birthday party. Even to his brother, Ronnie looked strikingly handsome with his neat blond hair, light suntan, merry gray-blue eyes, and well-fitting white tennis shirt and matching shorts.

"Well, well! What have we here! Mom tells me we almost had a convict in the family. Aww, did her beat-um bottom?" he added teasingly, not passing up the opportunity to pat Russell's bare behind.

"Ow! Cut it out, Ronnie! Momma really spanked me hard. It's still sore!"

"Yeah, it's still real pink and hot back there, too! Hey! I have an idea."

Ronnie stepped out of the room for a minute, then returned with a small, wide cylinder of cold cream. "Here, this'll take the soreness out. I learned about this at camp last summer."

At first Russell started to protest, but he soon relaxed and accepted his brother's well-meant ministration. Though the simile might not have occurred to either of the brothers, to the casual observer Ronnie's application of the Pond's cold cream to little Russell's round reddened buttocks might have resembled spreading mayonnaise on two ripe tomatoes. In any event, Russell instantly realized and appreciated the soothing effect, Russell felt his erection grow even harder.

However, the moment of pleasure was cut short by two almost simultaneous developments. First, the delightful sensation on the outside of Russell's behind was outweighed by the discomfort on the inside occasioned by enema's finally taking effect with mounting insistency on the part of the bowel muscles. In short, the moment arrived when Russell--desperately--simply had to jump up and run to the toilet, pull out the plug, and evacuate the enema. Not, however, before the second event had occurred, namely that Mrs. Reed walked into the room just before Ronnie finished applying the cold cream to Russell's bottom.

"What have we here!" she exclaimed disapprovingly just as Russell ran off to the bathroom. "You boys know that you're not to fool around with each other's bodies. My word! You two have some explaining to do, and it had better be good!"

"Momma, I was just trying to help Russell get rid of the stinging in his bottom from where you spanked him. I guess you could kind of call it first aid!"

"We'll see what kind of first aid you need when your father gets home, young man!" Mrs. Reed exclaimed irritably. "Even if that is the case,- and I'm still not at all sure that it is, mind youÑyou have absolutely no business going into my room and taking my things to use without permission. Is that understood?"

"Yes ma'am. I'm sorry. I should have asked." Ronnie apologized.

"But you didn't," she continued to chide her son,"and we'll see what your father has to say--and do--about this when he gets home! Meanwhile," she observed,"you have dirt on the side of those new white shorts. Better take them off and let me put them in the laundry before it settles in."

He slipped the shorts off and handed them to her.

A few minutes later he came to her in the laundry room and stood in the doorway. He was still dressed in his polo shirt, tennis shoes, kneesox and white jockey underpants.

"MommaÉ" he began,"those were the last pair of pants that I had to wear. All the others are still in the laundry!"

"That's all right too," she said. "Maybe that's just how you should be when your father gets home. Well, then, that's how it shall be!"

"But Momma!" Ronnie protested. "I can't just run around the house in my underpants all day like a little kid. I'm eleven years old!"

"I'm sure Russell would be glad to trade places with you," she declared, thereby effectively ending the conversation.

At 5:30 that afternoon Dr. Reed arrived home. He brought with him his motherin-law, who had been invited to dinner with them. Very subdued in their room, the brothers immediately heard their mother's booming voice proclaim: "Webster, you would not believe what those boys have done today! They need to be taught a lesson good and proper. I mean the full treatment!"

Although they did hear their father's voice respond in a mediating tone, they were not able to distinguish his words, and it soon became apparent that their mother's will had prevailed, for they heard their mother call:

"Ronnie! Russell! Get down here right now exactly as you are!"

Miserably Ronnie started toward the door. Even more miserably Russell followed. What was he going to do? He just couldn't walk downstairs bottom-naked and let everyone, even Grandma, see his weenie!

Then at the last minute he decided to put his underpants back on. Only, his mother had taken that pair to the laundry room already. Then he opened the middle drawer to the dresser that held many of his and his brother's clothes. His eyes fell on a particular article somewhat like underpants but different. It was the jockstrap that Ronnie had worn under his basketball uniform last year, and it would probably fit him now. True it would leave his bottom bare, but that was as his mother had intended. Now at least he wouldn't be bare in front! After slipping the tiny athletic supporter on, Russell caught up with his brother, whom he followed downstairs.

"All right, boys," Dr. Reed began,"your mother tells me it's been quite a day. It seems, you haven't minded very well, and have been getting quite a few notions that aren't very good for you. What about that?"

Russell and Ronnie looked meaningfully at each other. There were volumes that each could speak in his own defense, pleas which might in fact be heard and accepted by their father, who really had no desire to paddle them and did so only for the most serious misbehavior. Each knew, however, that their mother, when thoroughly displeased, could usually sway their father to accede to her conclusions. And today she was thoroughly displeased indeed. Moreover, on those rare occasions where Dr, Reed had taken issue with his wife on the children's behalf, their victory had proven all but Pyrrhic: for some time ranging from the next few hours to the next few days, Sandy would be virtually impossible to live with; her moods would alternate between icy withdrawal and seething hostility. Confusion reigned in the house, since any question addressed to her would invariably be answered with sarcasm. Since the children at their stage of cognitive development often failed to recognize that quality, they would take her statements literally, thereby precipitating additional domestic storms. Moreover, Sandy never forgot opposition of any sort and could cite the day and the hour of the occurrence of any statement or act which she deemed hostile or wrongful to her. Few people wondered why Webster spent so many hours at work and traveled great distances to medical conventions. Not surprisingly, then, both boys simply answered their father:"Yes, sir."

"I see, then," he said, adding:"Well, let's get this over with."

Opening a desk drawer, he brought out a highly varnished wooden paddle with an ornately contoured handle. Bend over the arm of that chair," he motioned to Ronnie, who did as directed.

WHAP! The paddle struck Ronnie's buttocks framed in the snug-fitting snow-white cotton Jockey briefs. The small hands whitened as they gripped the upholstered armchair more firmly. Now another WHAP was heard. Ronnie's lower lip started to quiver. A third WHAP! Now a small moan could be heard from Ronnie. Three more times the paddle struck, and though he manages to keep from yelling, Ronnie could no longer hold back the tears and now wept freely.

"Damage check!" his father now declared gently as he slid Ronnie's underpants down in the rear to inspect briefly the eleven-year-old's beaten backside, then snapped the elastic waistband back into place. "No cuts, no welts. You'll live," he pronounced, then called Russell to come forward.

As Russell did so, both his mother and his grandmother noticed his costume. As his mother remarked caustically:"Well, well! What have we here!" almost at the same instant his grandmother exclaimed:"Land's sake, child, what do you have on?"

"It's Ronnie's jockstrap," Russell explained, blushing deeply:"I know you want me to leave my bottom bare while I get paddled, but I didn't wand to walk in front of Grandma with my pee-pee showin'. I figured this was the only way I could do what was right for everyone."

"Bless your little heart, Russie! You're such a dear!" Grandma exclaimed, patting his left buttock as he walked by.

"Grandma!" Russell protested with chagrin.

"Never you mind about Grandma!" his mother snapped at him. "Over the chair this minute!"

For Russell his father chose to use his belt instead of the paddle. Each time the thick leather struck the tender boyflesh, little Russell howledÑat least for the first five blows. Then, being told that for each such outburst he would receive an additional stroke with the belt, he buried his face in the deep velvet of the chair and clenched his jaws shut. Thus Russell received a total of fifteen stinging lashes with the belt, which left distinct red marks on his bottom. When told that his whipping was over, Russell clutched his bottomcheeks with both hands and danced up and down for a full minute until the pain subsided a bit. He then asked: "May I get dressed now?"

"No, you may not!" Sandy snapped. "That's how you chose to come downstairs; that's how you are going to go around until bedtime. I don't care if the preacher or the President comes to visit in the meantime!"

Fortunately neither did. However, Sandy and her mother-in-law agreed that the jockstrap made very appropriate spanking apparel for Russell as did underpants for Ronnie, and that henceforth when their father came home and found either of them outfitted so, he should assume that they were awaiting discipline at his hands.

CHAPTER FIVE

As much as they resolved to stay out of trouble "forever" after Russell's ill-fated attempt at shoplifting, they managed to get into trouble again only a few days later. That afternoon, Mrs. Reed, answering the doorbell, was aghast to see her Ronnie and Russell looking quite glum and accompanied by a police officer in uniform.

"Mrs. Reed?" he asked politely.

"Yes, Officer. Are my sons in trouble?"

"Well, I caught them playing with matches in the vacant lot around the corner. There was only a small "campfire" when I found them, but who knows what might have happened if I hadn't seen the smoke when I did! Anyhow, I know you and your husband taught them better, or mean to. So. I won't run them in or even cite them this time, provided that you assure me that you'll take care of them, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, I do, and you can be sure that we will, Officer, any time!"

"Thank you, ma'am. A pleasure to know parents like you,"

"All right!" she stormed when the policeman had left. "Playing with matches, at your age! Honestly! Just wait 'til your father gets home! You're both going to get the spanking of your life! And so that you'll spend the time thinking about what you've done and what you're going to get for it, both of you, take off your pants, right now!"

"Yes, Mommy," said Russell.

"Yes, Mom," said Ronnie.

The two boys sheepishly unfastened their short pants and slid them down their legs, then over their shoes and off. For the rest of the afternoon they were two very quiet, subdued, obedient little boys.

At 4:30 the phone rang. It was their father. Dr. Reed had been invited to consult with a famous specialist from Europe, and to dinner afterward. He would not be home before midnight.

A look of relief appeared on the brothers' faces, but not for long.

"Don't get your hopes up," Mrs. Reed warned: "You're still going to get it at 5:15."

"But you said Daddy's not going to be here!" both boys exclaimed.

"That's right," she replied,"but Dr. Williamson will be! I just talked to Beverley. She's not any happier than I am about what you boys have been up to, and Barron and Boyd are going to get it from their father in a few minutes. Now that he's home, they're going to get their little bottoms blistered good and proper. I'm sure he won't mind blistering two more. So, come one, we're going down there right now."

Hanging her purse on her left shoulder, Mrs. Reed ushered both boys out the door, locked the house, then led them both by the hand toward the sidewalk.

"No! No! Mommy!" Russell protested. "Please don't make us walk all the way down there with no pants on!"

"But, boys, you have your underpants on," she indicated, pointing to their tight, white cotton jockey briefs.

"Yes, but our butts stick out, and everybody can see them!" Russell complained.

"That's too bad!" she declared. "Now, let's go!"

All the way down the block to the Williamsons' home, Ronnie and Russell had to walk with their mother holding them by the hand. As they approached the Williamsons' yard they heard the distinct sounds of a boy crying and yelling::

"OW! PLEASE, DADDY, STOP! I'LL BE A GOOD BOY! OWW!" Then as they drew nearer they heard the regular SMACK! of a big man's hand slapping bare boyflesh—spanking bare littleboy bottom, no doubt.

No doubt indeed! As Mrs. Reed drew the reluctant Ronnie and Russell through the gate into the Williamsons' back yard, the boys' worst fears were confirmed: Dr. Williamson, obviously just home from work (he still had on his necktie) had sat down on the stump in front of the woodshed. Barron was lying face-down across his father's lap, and Williamson was giving his son a good hard spanking on the bare bottom. Indeed. Barron's pants and underpants had been taken not just down, but completely off. Here was Barron, wearing only his yellow knit shirt, white kneesox, and white tennis shoes. Even when he stood up again, the hem of his shirttail; would not come down far enough to cover his little _d_i_c_k_ and balls, much less his round little bottom.

"WAHH! PLEASE STOP! WAAHH! OH! DADDY! I'LL BE THE BEST LITTLE BOY YOU EVER SAW! WAAHH! I'M SORRY! WAAHH!" Barron cried as the big hand spanked and spanked relentlessly.

Boyd, Barron's younger brother, was sitting on a little stool a few feet away. He too was wearing nothing below the waist except socks and shoes. With the typical naïveté of a five-year-old, he called out to his neighbors:

"Hey, Ronnie! Hey, Russell! Look at Daddy spank Barron! See how red Barron's bottom is! Daddy spanked me a few minutes ago, see!" As he said the latter, he stood and displayed his reddened little rear for a few seconds, then sat down again. He continued to prattle:"Daddy says I have to sit on this hard wooden stool for a half-hour. How long is an hour? Even after that, I still have to run around bare-bottomed for the rest of the day. And Barron does too! Say, is Daddy going to spank you too? Is that why your mommy took you down here in your underpants?"

"Please, Mommy!" Russell begged now in an even more urgent tone. "It's so embarrassing, your making us walk down here in our underpants. That's punishment enough! Don't let him spank us!"

"Nonsense, boys," Mrs. Reed snorted,"you're both going to take your spankings on the bare bottom. Both of you, take your underpants down in the rear right now. You're next, Ronnie, just as soon as Dr. Williamson is through with Barron."

"No, Momma, please!" Ronnie pleaded, his knees half-bent and his hands outstretched in supplication. And in that pose his little bottom stuck out adorably, and the whiteness of his snug cotton jockey brief and kneesox contrasted beautifully with the light golden tan of his smooth bare legs. "Please," he implored,"I'm eleven years old. Let Russell go first! Don't make us strip!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" his mother snorted. "Now do as I say—get those underpants down in the rear! Or, I will make you strip! Then you'll spend the rest of the day running around like Barron and Boyd with a draught under your shirttail!"

Ronnie and Russell knew she meant business. They both slid their briefs down in the rear to the point where their genitals remained covered but the curves of their buttocks held the elastic waistband lowered in place at the top of their thighs.

Without saying a word himself, and with only a gesture from Mrs. Reed, big brooding Williamson— after setting a very tearful, red-bottomed Barron on his feet to stand with his face to the wall of the woodshed in penance for an hour to atone fully for his transgressions of the last few days—now took Ronnie over his knee and spanked him good, long, and hard, so that, when he let him up, Ronnie clutched his reddened bottomcheeks and danced around in pain for almost five minutes.

Russell was terrified. Williamson lifted him right off the ground and laid him face-down over his knee. Then, without a word in advance, the big hand descended: SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Again and again the hand descended on Russell's bare, defenseless litleboy bottom. Now Russell felt as though his bottom were on fire, as though he had been stung on the behind by a hundred hornets! The pain seemed worse than any spanking he had ever had before.

"WWAAAAHHHHHHH!" he bawled helplessly.

"All right," Mrs. Reed demanded after Russell's bottom was thoroughly reddened and he was allowed to stand on his feet again,"now that that's over, tell me, boys, are you ever going to play with matches again?"

"No, Mommy, never!" they both answered emphatically.

"Good. Now, both of you, thank Dr. Williamson for your spankings."

The brothers looked each other in the eye for an instant, but they both knew better than to protest or disobey.

"Thank you, Dr. Williamson," they both said.

"Fine," their mother commended them. "Now pull up your underpants and let's go home!"

They pulled up their underpants at once and with immense relief.

After the ordeal that they had been through in the Williamsons' back yard, Ronnie and Russell were almost able to overcome their embarrassment at having to walk around the block once more without their pants, and to ignore the curious or mocking stares of neighbors and passersby gawking at the two little boys walking homeward in their shirts and underpants. The two boys hardly dared the one question most pressing on their minds. Fortunately it was answered without having to be asked: As soon as they had entered their own home again, their mother told them with a pat--this time an affectionate one--to each boys bottom : "All right, boys, go put some pants on now." They needed no further incentive to do so at once.

However painful and embarrassing the Reed brothers' punishment had been, they still thanked their lucky stars that they were not in Barron's and Boyd's shoes. Shoes were about all Barron and Boyd were in right now, Ronnie thought ironically, unless one counted shirts and kneesox.

Indeed, when Ronnie and Russell rode by the Williamsons' home on their bicycles about an hour and a half later, they saw Barron and Boyd, both still red-faced and red-bottomed in just their shoes, kneesox, and shirts, working as fast and hard as they could to finish raking up all the leaves and litter from their front yard.

"You little brat! It's all your fault! You started it, and I'll get you back for this if it takes me a million years! Barron was complaining. "Why, everybody in town can see our bare bottoms with the red and blue spank-marks on them!. I'll never live this down! Never!"